


Angel Food

by rw_eaden



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Food Kink, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Top Crowley (Good Omens), slight feeding kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/rw_eaden
Summary: Crowley's boredom leads him to more illicit activities. Or, it would, if Aziraphale hadn't called made mention of things that let Crowley's stupid mouth get away from him.Maybe it's a good thing, though. Maybe his slip up will lead to something a little less solitary.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 210





	Angel Food

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Due to the nature of the lockdown mini-episode, there will be mentions of the pandemic we're currently going through in this fic. Nothing graphic, of course, but it's mentioned because it's there. My apologies if that's upsetting for you.   
> This isn't serious, this is just an excuse to write pwp.

Sometimes Crowley has to wonder if God isn’t fucking with him, just a little bit. He’d come around to realize that, if God was truly on anyone’s side at all, it was probably humanity’s, after the whole Not-Mageddon business and both he and Aziraphale’s failed executions. So, assuming that She was on anyone’s side and hadn’t just buggered off to some far reach of the universe for an indefinite lunch break, that would mean She was on Crowley’s side. Sort of. He and Aziraphale aren’t humans, but they are about as close as two beings, occult and ethereal could get. So it stands to reason that, even if She isn’t on  _ his side,  _ She’s still on the same side as he is, so She could stand to be a little kinder to him. 

Yeah, no, now that he’s actually thinking about it, that’s never gonna happen. 

Still, he prefers to think that She’s fucking with him. A warped sense of humor is still a sense of humor, after all. Even if those dinosaur bones don’t make a damn bit of sense. 

See, things were going well. After the world didn’t end Crowley and Aziraphale were finally free to be, well,  _ Crowley and Aziraphale _ . Officially. They even kissed, that very night as twilight gathered over London’s skyline and the moon glowed bright and hopeful over them all. And there was more after, of course. Walking hand-in-hand in the park, nuzzling in the low light of a theater, a picnic. It was all lovely and Crowley was just happy that it was finally happening. Aziraphale was still a little hesitant, and their old habits crept up on them quite a bit, but it was nice to finally have the chance. To have a partner. To be a partner. 

And then there had to be a pandemic. 

Really, isn’t that always the way? You just start to get your life together and someone throws a monkey wrench at your head. God has to be fucking with him. It’s really the only answer he’s going to accept at this point. 

It’s been weeks since he’s seen Aziraphale. It’s been weeks since he’s seen anybody, actually, because most of the world has been held-up in their homes, fighting the spread of sickness as best they can. Which is all well and good, but there’s only so much one single demon can do before even climbing the walls gets tedious. Cleaning is out because his flat is never anything other than spotless. TV is out because there’s never anything on but reruns, daytime talk shows (now shot from the lavish homes of celebrities), and the news. He hasn’t any hobbies that don’t involve inciting irritation and right now people have much more to worry about than what some prick on the internet has to say about why whatever blockbuster came out recently is either awful or terrific - even though there aren’t any new blockbusters coming out. 

This is what he gets for being an extrovert, apparently. 

He could always masturbate. Granted, it wouldn’t be a long term solution, but what else is there really to do? Could be fun. He could really make an evening of it, too. Get out some champagne, take a bubble bath, tease himself for hours, really make it worth it. He can’t even remember the last time he spent some quality time with himself, so it would be overdue anyway. And then he could take a nap until this whole thing is over and done with. 

He’s just stepped out of the bath when Aziraphale calls, stumbling over his introduction in the most endearing way. And of course, it doesn’t temper the budding arousal he’s been working with since he slipped into the tub. He’d been teasing himself in the water, wondering how nice it might be if his angel were with him. They’d have to have sweets, too, of course, maybe chocolate dipped fruit they could feed each other, scented candles, maybe even rose petals in the bath instead of bubbles. Aziraphale would play coy, of course, “accidentally” brushing his toes along the inside of Crowley’s thigh, pretending to be bashful when Crowley would catch his eyes wandering below the water… 

Crowley is, of course, paying attention to the conversation. He tends to do that when Aziraphale speaks. He can’t banter or tease him all that well if he wasn’t after all. But paying attention to what Aziraphale said while also sporting an erection comes with an entirely different set of issues he wasn’t anticipating. Innuendos happen. Apparently. 

“I could hunker down in your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake.” The words leave his mouth with very little thought and there’s no way to save it. It’s not like he can really be blamed, though. Aziraphale is apparently in his shop, baking mountains of pastry, enough that he can give some of it  _ away _ and Crowley… well, he’s never claimed to be a paragon of virtue. It might’ve taken him a few millennia to get with the program in terms of reproduction, but he knows a kink when he has it. 

And really, it’s not his fault. It’s not like he sat down and thought “gee, what could I find painfully arousing that my best friend does in front of me all the time? Oh, I know! When he eats! Because that will never turn around and bite me in the ass!” And it’s definitely not his fault that Aziraphale’s body is so soft and delightfully round. It might be his fault that his brain has decided to correlate the two, but that’s as much blame as he’s going to take for it. 

Aziraphale flusters, bumbles through something about breaking the rules and Crowley lets the call end, determined now to sleep an extra month and hope Azriaphale will have forgotten his slip up by then. It’s not that Aziraphale doesn’t  _ know _ that Crowley finds him attractive. And it’s not that Crowley doesn’t know that Aziraphale finds him attractive. They’ve both been on the same wavelength for decades if not longer, they just couldn’t actually say or do anything about it. And now that they can, well, one night of heavy petting in the bookshop was enough for both of them to pump the breaks a little. It’s one thing to kiss yourselves stupid with the love of your everlasting life, but to do that in the same week as Armageddidn’t? In the same year, even? It’s a lot. Too much. Too fast. 

And of course, now Crowley has scarred his angel by letting his kink raise its stupid head. He looks down at his cock, still traitorously hard and nearly poking out of his bathrobe. 

“Bastard,” he snarls. 

His cock, of course, doesn’t bother to respond. 

He’s not really feeling up to masturbation anymore. No, not unless he wants to roll around on his sheets, whining and imagining Aziraphale licking pastry cream off his fingers, tonguing at the webbing between them, maybe trailing down Crowley’s palm and the sensitive skin of his wrist. 

His cock does bother to respond to that little though, twitching enough to make him groan. 

Fuck, he wants Aziraphale. Badly. He wants to smother him in chocolate sauce and lick him clean. He wants to spoon feed him cherries jubilee and taste the ice cream on Aziraphale’s lips. He wants to get sticky caramel sauce in all the best places and find crumbs in weird places a week later. 

But they said they’d wait, so wait Crowley shall. What’re a few months to an immortal, really? What’re a few decades? It’s not like they’d be any further along if this awful lockdown wasn’t in place. They’d still be taking it slowly, abiding the rules they agreed to set. 

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? There are new rules now. Rules that forbid them from spending time together, even though communicable diseases have no bearing on them. They can’t spread them. Hell, Aziraphale apparently expected Crowley to be out and about right now. 

Wait a minute… 

Aziraphale expected that he was out causing mischief and setting a bad example, but he wants to abide by the rules and not have Crowley over… even though he called wondering what Crowley was doing. What might Aziraphale have said if Crowley was out there, being a menace? Tut, disapprovingly, probably, but he couldn’t force him to go back home, not unless he decided to break the rules, too. No, it was a convenient excuse, wasn’t it? 

He could practically hear Aziraphale’s voice in his head  _ “no, Crowley, you mustn’t come over because that would be bad. And you are bad, so I expect you to break the rules but you really shouldn’t, even though it is entirely within your nature to do so.”  _

Maybe if Crowley behaves himself and doesn’t make it awkward, Aziraphale will let him stay? He might as well try, after all. 

* * *

“You really aren’t supposed to be here,” is what Aziraphale says when Crowley saunters through the front door of the bookshop, a case of Cabernet Sauvignon in hand. His eyes, however, twinkle with delight. 

“Which is exactly why I am,” Crowley says. “I realized that you were right: I have been a bad bad example. And you have been too good of a good example. So here I am, foiling your good example.” Crowley smiles, thankful that his glasses cover the slight twitch of his left eye. He had about a half-dozen false starts in the Bently, driving around the block a few times, nearly talking himself out of showing up. It really  _ was _ a bad example to break the lockdown order, and even though the streets are barren he doesn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. Just because he and Aziraphale are impervious to viruses doesn’t mean anyone else is.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything right away, and Crowley’s nerves get the better of him.

“Look, angel, if you really think this is a bad idea I can go home. I don’t want you to think I -” 

“No, no dear, it’s quite alright. Besides, letting you go now would be irresponsible. Do come in,” says Aziraphale, as he ushers Crowley into the quiet bookshop. “Of course, you do realize I’ll have to keep you here until this whole thing is over. Wouldn’t want you breaking the rules any further.” There’s a question in the way his voice lilts, and Crowley can’t help but be a little excited by it. Maybe he made the right call after all. 

Aziraphale lets one of the bottles breathe at the table while he stashes the rest in his icebox and Crowley gets a peek at the truly monumental amount of baked goods his angel has been busy making over the past few weeks. There are loaves of sourdough stacked on the counters, overturned bundt pans in the sink, and an entire, sugar draped croquembouche within eyeshot. 

“You weren’t kidding about the baking,” Crowley says. 

“I never joke about pastry,” Aziraphale says, digging two glasses and a set of plates from a high cabinet. 

He sets the table for two of them and produces a cake from the depths of the kitchen, as well as a bowl of strawberries swimming in their own juices. 

“Angel food cake and macerated strawberries,” he says. 

Oh, Hell. 

Though Aziraphale likes all sorts of foods, Crowley has a bit of a sweet-tooth. This is something Aziraphale knows well. But even though his tastes run sweet, he’s always preferred angel food cake. Yes, he’s aware of the irony, Aziraphale has made it a point to remind him several times, but that’s not going to change his preferences. It’s light and soft and soaks up fruit juice well. Normally, this kind of treat would be one Crowley would have no issue matching Aziraphale bite-for-bite with. 

However, his cock, though soft now, is still apparently calling the shots, and hearing the words “angel” and “food” and “macerated” has sent him down a very inappropriate pathway. One that involves what he’d been planning before his unexpected phone call. 

“Something wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asks, lifting a fork-full of cake and berries to his mouth. 

“Eehmnnope,” Crowley says, stuffing his own fork-full into his mouth. And then: “damn, angel.” He barely resists the urge to make a more embarrassing noise of approval. 

“Good?” 

“The best.” 

Aziraphale wiggles a little, tucking into the rest of his treat. 

They don’t speak for a while, which is a good thing because, between the cake and the way Aziraphale’s tongue slips out to lick strawberry juice off his lips, Crowley’s jeans are much tighter than even he thinks is appropriate. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Aziraphale says. “Even if it’s actually bad.” 

“I missed you too, angel.” 

Aziraphale smiles and looks at Crowley through his lashes. Crowley nearly chokes on a strawberry.

“I’m glad you didn’t decide to take a nap, after all. I wouldn’t know what to do with all this food if I didn’t have someone else to sample it.” 

“Could always give it to the neighbors. Could buy a drone and airdrop it, if you wanted.” 

“Well, it’s a much better idea than eating it all. I don’t think I could before it all goes bad. Could you imagine? I’d probably had to start miracling a larger waistline and you know how I feel about altering my clothes.” 

Oh yes, Crowley could. The fabric might start to squeeze at his hips, or strain around his thighs cling to that delightful ass of his. He might even have to stop wearing the waistcoat. 

“Mmph, wouldn’t want that,” Crowley says, keeping his eyes on the cake in front of him. He’s only got a few bites left, the last of it now stained pink and falling apart with the syrup. 

“Of course, I could just wear a robe. It’s not like anyone would see me. Aside from you, of course.” 

Crowley sputters and coughs. Of course, he owns a robe. Something soft and fluffy, maybe with matching slippers. He probably doesn’t wear anything underneath it either. Crowley scoffs hopefully covering his mild slip up. 

Aziraphale shrugs. “Even I like to unwind sometimes.” 

Crowley doesn’t mention that Aziraphale doesn’t have anything to unwind from. He’s a little distracted. For one, there’s a drip of syrup on Aziraphale’s chin and it’s got him licking his own lips. Would it be sweeter coming off his skin? Probably. 

“Are you going to finish that?” Aziraphale asks, pointing his fork at the last little bit of cake on Crowley’s plate. 

Crowley pushes his plate towards Aziraphale and lets him finish it off. He’s far too dazed to do anything else. 

Aziraphale finishes, patting his lips with a napkin before sighing like he always does. “Not bad for a first attempt, wouldn’t you say?” 

“No, nuh-uh.” 

“Would you care to join me on the sofa for the wine?” He asks, already gathering the glasses and heading towards it. 

“I - uh - if it’s all the same to you I think I’d rather stay here,” Crowley says, rolling his shoulders. Redirect blood flow, that’s what he’s got to do. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale’s brows furrow as he looks Crowley over and Crowley can see the exact moment his stupid tendency to sprawl in whatever chair he’s in has given him away as Aziraphale blushes as red as those damn strawberries. “Oh,” he says. 

“Sorry, I -” 

“You, well,” Aziraphale licks his lips, gaze falling to the floor. “Was  _ watch you eat cake  _ a euphemism I’m not aware of?” 

Crowley groans and throws his head back. “No. I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I am. It just happens, sometimes.” If sometimes means  _ nearly every time you eat in front of me  _ of course. 

“So you’re not - “ Aziraphale clears his throat. “Right. Forget I mentioned it.” 

Crowley’s brain, which is still somehow several seconds behind, does finally make a connection, and for the second time that day sends it to his lips before his tendency to overthink gets in the way. “Wait, is that what you thought when I said it on the phone earlier?” 

“Well… you did ask if you could slither over and watch, not partake. It’s rather suggestive don’t you think?” 

“Well, it was. But it was accidental. I didn’t mean - I wasn’t trying to come on to you.” 

“I see.” 

“Didjathink - Did you think I was trying to come onto you just now?” 

“I - I - well of course not! That would be - It was inappropriate for me to even mention it in the first place.” 

Crowley is sluggish and a little drunk on the eroticism that is Aziraphale plus cake, but even so he’s able to put a few things together. Aziraphale called, goaded him into coming over through their usual double-speak, got flustered at the mention of Crowley watching him eat and then proceeded to allow just that when Crowley did come over. 

“Aziraphale, angel, I’m going to need you to be very clear with me for a moment.” 

Aziraphale sighs, wringing his hands in front of himself. “Oh, alright.” 

“Did you invite me over to have sex?” 

“I didn’t intend to. I just… wondered what you were doing.” 

“And you assumed I’d be setting a bad example. I’d be  _ getting too close to people. _ ” 

“Well, you are sort of an irritant in that way.” 

“Gu-uff!” 

“You are. You know it’s true. You enjoy irritating people.” 

“You thought I’d be breaking the rules. And then you told me I shouldn’t be breaking the rules.” He allows his voice to pitch downwards, just a little  _ “Oh, no Crowley, you mustn’t break the rules I’d fully expected you to break.”  _

“I do not sound like that!” 

“And then you made me watch you eat cake.” 

“I didn’t make you do anything. You did that of your own volition. I can hardly be blamed for, “ Aziraphale gestures to Crowley’s crotch, then immediately lets his hand and eyes drop. 

“No,” Crowley drawls, “I think you can. It’s not my fault.” 

“It’s your penis. Who else would be responsible for it?.” 

Crowley snorts a laugh. And then Aziraphale snickers, and before they know it they’re both laughing at something that isn’t even that funny, to begin with. 

When the laughter dies down, Crowley takes off his sunglasses and wipes the moisture from his eyes. 

“‘S alright,” he says, “it’ll go away in a while. ‘S not your fault.” 

“Unless of course, I did attempt to orchestrate a scenario where it might… act up,” Aziraphale walks over, close enough that Crowley has to crane his neck up to look into his eyes. 

“Thought you wanted to take it slow?” Crowley says. 

Aziraphale straightens his shoulders, puffing his chest out a bit. “Yes, well. That was before,” he gestures to the empty room. 

“Before…” 

“Before I had to miss you so much,” he says, voice strained. 

Crowley slings his legs back to a semi-normal position, launching himself to standing in one smooth motion. “It’s only been a few weeks. We’ve waited a lot longer before.”

“Yes, but I think I’ve had enough of it. I’ve been waiting for nearly 2,000 years. I think it’s about damn time, don’t you?” 

“Fuck yes,” Crowley says over a sigh, throwing himself right in Aziraphale’s space. He wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s neck as they kiss, pushing and pulling at each other’s lips with a shared enthusiasm they haven’t yet experienced. It’s dizzying and delightful, and much more than he thought he could stand, but too good to give up even for a moment to breathe. 

One forceful shove from Aziraphale later and Crowley is sitting on the table, slipping his jacket off while Aziraphale undoes his waistcoat and cufflinks, letting them both fall where they may. Crowley doesn’t have time to be shocked before Aziraphale’s lips are on his again, pulling a muffled groan from his throat. Aziraphale is single-minded, his hands working furiously to strip Crowley naked while his lips wipe all conscious thought from Crowley's mind. Crowley isn’t being very helpful in that though. His hands fist through the feather-soft curls of Azriaphale’s hair and in his shirt collar while his legs tighten around Azriaphale’s hips. The angle puts Aziraphale’s cock right up against Crowley’s balls and it’s so damn  _ good _ . 

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley whines, half-way through and aborted bite against Aziraphale’s plush lip. 

“We could if you’d only cooperate,” Aziraphale huffs, shaking Crowley’s arms from off his shoulders as he flings his shirt off with a violence Crowley’s never seen him display. 

Crowley barely manages not to let his head hit the table behind him. “Yeah, yeah. Right. Okay,” he says, untucking his own shirt with shaking hands. Still, it’s apparently not fast enough for Aziraphale, who bats his hands away from his belt buckle and undoes Crowley’s trousers himself before hitting his knees. 

Crowley is helpless to do anything other than watch as Aziraphale, prissy and proper Aziraphale, kneels on the dusty floor at his feet and pulls Crowley’s cock from his trousers. He’s definitely in no position to do anything but moan when Aziraphale wraps his lips around the tip, no pretense whatsoever. Crowley had always thought he’d be a bit more of a tease, that he’d take his time and bat his eyelashes before easing them both into it. 

Apparently not. Apparently, Aziraphale wants to demonstrate his lack of gag reflex right away. 

“Hnnnng,” groans Crowley as Aziraphale takes him into his throat. He’s cracking the wooden table, handing on desperately lest he leaves hot, angry claw marks down his angel's neck. They haven’t talked about that, yet. The marking. Though they might not get a chance if Aziraphale keeps this up. 

Aziraphale slurps and Crowley very nearly comes and there. “Goddammit, angel,” he hisses, “you’re gonna make me lose it.” 

Aziraphale pulls off to drag his tongue up the underside of Crowley’s cock. “That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” He pants, Crowley’s balls into his mouth. 

“FUck. Yes? No. Maybe?” 

He can’t bear to look at Aziraphale’s face but his curious little hum sends shockwaves through Crowley’s body. 

“I wanna…” he pants, “not yet.” 

Aziraphale pulls off and this time Crowley does watch as he licks the head of Crowley’s cock, not unlike the way he licks the back of the spoon when he eats pot au creme. 

Crowley’s up on his feet, hauling Aziraphale up by his shirt collar and into the nearest hard surface in an instant. Aziraphale at least has the decency to look stunned. His hands fall to Crowley’s hips while Crowley attacks his neck, biting kisses into the skin and sucking at the tender spot just below his ear. 

“Hickies,” Aziraphale pants, pushing weakly at Crowley's shoulders. 

“Who’s gonna see?” 

Aziraphale sighs and tips his head back against the… pillar? Probably a pillar. Regardless, it gives Crowley access to the whole column of his throat and he relishes it. 

They’re panting against each other’s skin now, Aziraphale fumbling with his trousers as Crowley rolls his hips instantly against Aziraphale’s. 

“Don’t you know what you do to me?” Crowley growls. 

“I think I have some idea,” Aziraphale groans, pulling Crowley’s hips flush with his own. 

“Want to - could watch you suck my cock for hours,” Crowley says. “Look so good with your mouth full.” 

“Well, I could -” 

Crowley shakes his head before biting his way down Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I could smother you in chocolate. Smother me in chocolate. I don’t care. Just want to make a mess of you.” His knees hit the floor and it would be painful if he wasn’t so focused on getting his mouth on Aziraphale’s thick, silky thighs. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Aziraphale gasps as Crowley jerks his pants and trousers down before latching onto his tights like a leech. His knees tremble under Crowley’s patient hands. He could stay down here for hours himself, drawing deep red bruises to the surface of the skin, leaving tender little spots Aziraphale will rub up against every time he walks. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, his hands tugging Crowley’s hair until he’s forced to pull off and hiss. 

“Get up here,” Aziraphale commands. “I need you.” 

“You have me,” Crowley says. 

“No,” Aziraphale says, guiding his hands up and over the wonderful curve of his ass. “I need you.” 

Crowley makes a sound that’s more animal than anything else and springs up to strike. He guides Aziraphale’s leg around his waist, whimpering when the head of his cock brushes against the soft flesh between Aziraphale’s legs. 

He shoves two fingers past Aziraphale’s lips and he can’t stand to look anymore. He sucks on Crowley’s fingers like he did his cock like he does ice lollies and every creme-filled monstrosity that’s ever graced the earth. Hearing him groan and sigh around Crowley’s fingers isn’t much better, though, and while he’d intended to be a bit more careful, that’s just not an opinion at this point. 

Crowley replaces his fingers with his tongue before he lets them skim down the curves and folds of Azriaphale’s body, only stopping when they reach their ultimate destination. Aziraphale’s whole body shudders, and Crowley breaches him with both fingers right away. It’s easy and already warm and wet inside, though it’s not Crowley’s doing. 

“You little tart,” Crowley laughs, twisting his wrist. It’s not the best angle, but he doesn’t care right now. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to, either. 

“You weren’t complaining earlier,” Aziraphale says, biting down on Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley keens, “fuck, you’re such a -” his words are cut off when Aziraphale rolls his hips, dragging their cocks together. 

“Yes?” Aziraphale asks, breathless. 

“Shut up,” Crowley growls, finally having enough. He removes his fingers and lines up his dick instead. 

Aziraphale does the opposite of shutting up. 

“Crowley!” He wails, kicking into the small of Crowley’s back with a very hard heel. His stormcloud eyes roll skyward, and Crowley starts rolling his hips. 

Aziraphale damn near sings. He chases Crowley’s cock with every roll of their bodies, moaning and gasping half words and broken syllables, his hands pulling and scratching down Crowley’s back. Crowley pants into his lover’s neck, focused gasping as the pleasure pulls at the base of his spine, driving him forward faster, harder until there’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing and the slap of his thighs against Aziraphale’s ass. 

His whole being is a bowstring of desire, and it takes far more effort than he imagined not to go off. All the wonderful things he could think of to say at this moment evaporate into grunts and groans in his throat. He’d love to tell Azriaphale how decadent he is, how Crowley would love nothing more than to spend weeks hand-feeding him all the sweets he wants, how he’d love to watch the angel lick sugar from his fingertips, how he’d bite and suck the steadily rounding flesh of his angel’s stomach and thighs.

No words come, though. Only moans to match Aziraphale’s and the hot coil of pleasure from thighs to cock that threatens to snap every time Aziraphale tightens around him. 

When Aziraphale comes it’s with his hands pressed into Crowley’s shoulder blades, letting out such a guttural groan that it shakes Crowley down to his bones. Crowley follows soon after with a gasping whine. 

It takes them a long time to pull away from each other, panting their shared breaths into damp skin. Finally, Crowley pulls out and laughs at the displeased groan Aziraphale gives in response.

“Well,” Aziraphale says around a breath. “Would this qualify as something to do for the next few weeks?” 

Crowley snorts and nuzzles into his angel’s soft neck. He drags his tongue through the sweat gathered on the column of Aziraphale’s throat, just to feel him shudder. “Dunno might need more convincing.” 

Aziraphale smiles against his cheek. “Well then, might I make a more convincing argument on the sofa?” 

“You can try,” Crowley says like he hasn’t already made up his mind. 


End file.
